bREAKING pAT

Friday, November 18th 2016 – 2:42 pm

We weak broken people keep breaking people, reason, and hope. Hoping for a season or break to the cynical bloody cycle. But you don’t want to hear my simple sinful story, do you? You’ve been waiting for me to sing about yours and with a prettier voicing than you could ever muster.

I will try.

How much more can I endure? I cannot carry me or you or him or her anymore.

My system is broken and old and cannot hold. Prepare for eternal impact.

See?

You just caused that.

(Conversion Disorder specialist’s handwritten notes –

Kaiser Sunnyside therapy appointment – November 18th, 10:30 am)

General: writing a memoir of trauma, oct 29 2015 quit drinking, severe ptsd, was an I.T. sys admin, volunteered work at homeless shelter, married 28 yrs, Sept Amy laid off job as claims processor. Dad *very violent.

Patient’s thoughts: strong will, challenge accepted, I’ll show him or anyone, mental cutoff, I don’t open my heart up, If I get close to anyone then I always lose them. I broke myself so I would never take my violence out on them. The monster saves me.

Monday, November 21st, 2016 – 4:37 pm

I have not written as bland and linear a description of progress reports on my health as some of my friends and family might prefer, but this might be a pivotal time to do so.

Amy and I met this morning with just one of at least five medical specialists who together have worked closely as a team on my case.

It is strange, Doctor… Strange I tell you, to know I’ve graduated from having a cutting edge condition to being your “case.” And having my own team, like on House M.D.! Haha! Wait.

All the patients live at the end of that show, right? 

Anyway, we are more hopeful than we have been since the very beginning that I may walk again without a walker or two canes or even one cane. We are more encouraged than ever that I might one day drive a car again.

Three of the specialists have now stressed that my willingness to even consider the accuracy of the diagnosis and apply myself wholeheartedly to the therapy already puts us across the most difficult hurdle. The one from Friday said that I could come back from this for the same reason I got here. Because I’m highly self analyzing, astute and communicate well. And I am a stubborn bastard.

We also are well aware that we are drawing lines for benchmarks to objectively measure for improvement. Because we have not seen any improvement in five months. And we have no intention of just going through the motions. If I only get worse, they accept they will revisit the diagnosis. If they’re already correct, then I should only get better from the therapies.

But those therapies will likely take a considerable time, months or even years and will probably be the most painful and difficult thing I’ve ever gone through. Haha! I knew there would be one last thing worse than this disaster. I mean, at least one more.

If you were not already aware, I have been diagnosed with conversion disorder from severe PTSD. Their efficacious understanding of it is still in its infancy, but in short, I have severe brain damage from my sustained struggle with PTSD for over forty years. To protect myself and others from the violence and the monster within, especially from my family, I broke myself. I broke my mind and the body followed. Notice I say “the” body and not “my” body. I’ve been losing my ability to walk and talk for the last five months for a reason.

Before, I was in debilitating and often crippling pain for the last twenty years, which was part of the internalizing of the violence that defined the first half of my life. When all these new symptoms started about six (or more) months ago, I began to lose not only all my excruciating pain, but most sensation altogether throughout my whole body. My brain now sends flawed and random signals to my whole body erupting in tremors and seizures. The brain apparently also sends fewer and slower messages to my numb legs. The neurologist timed the difference. I can send mental commands to my legs to move and to walk, but I cannot feel them or my feet touching the floor. Coupled with vertigo and weakness and I am married to a walker or canes.

And looking down.

For now.

Hope deferred maketh the heart sick. And a sick heart will break a body. And a broken body will take the rest of the mind with it. Controlled demolition. Who called it early? I did, the bastard bragged.

Do you believe in hope? Do you believe in prayers or doctors? Both? Titles, just a name. Only men and at one time, they were the same. In what or Whom do you believe or hope? The god of science or the godless silence. Nope?

I’ve started to believe in Today and in fitting as many of those that I love into it. I’ve already broken off from so much of myself. I feel like a different man. I have to hold on to something. I’d rather make that holding on to someone. I have hope and faith and so many loves.

Hell or highwater, these three shall remain.

Said the stubborn bastard.

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